


Take Out His Heart

by marzar



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Angels vs. Demons, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feels, Heaven vs Hell, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mind Manipulation, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Partial Mind Control, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Romance, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzar/pseuds/marzar
Summary: Heaven and Hell aren't done with them yet. Hell kidnaps Crowley by discorperating him. A plan is devised to take out Aziraphale once and for all, and Gabriel intends to make Crowley deliver the final blow.





	1. We Always Have a Plan

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for any inconsistencies and mistakes. This is my first multi-chapter fic, as well as my first Good Omens fic. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

“Oh please” Aziraphale scoffed. “That was hardly necessary!” 

Crowley gripped the bentley’s steering wheel. As his temper flared, so did his speed. The sound of the engine roared, making it impossible not to raise his voice. He glanced over, yellow eyes catching blue ones. 

“I’m telling you, Angel, that waiter was trying to overcharge us!” He jerked the wheel, weaving in and out of traffic like...whatever it is that weaves in and out of things. “What kind of a demon would I be if I just let that slide!”

Aziraphale’s knuckles were a very alarming shade of pink, in sharp contrast to the pallor of his skin. He turned his gaze to look straight ahead, eyes wide, clutching onto the grab handles for dear life. Crowley was amazed the angel ever rode with him at all, after all this time, surely he would be used to his driving by now. 

“I’m sure it was a mista- Crowley watch where you’re-” Crowley had just missed hitting a car by the skin of his teeth. The feather of his wing, the... Well, you get the picture. Aziraphale yelped, never taking his eyes off the traffic. “If you’re not careful you’ll discorperate us both! I just received this body, and I’d hate to see it damaged!”

“We really should send Adam a card for that.” He turned back to the road. “Maybe an edible arrangement, or something.”

“Oh, I do love those.” 

“I know you do.” Crowley couldn't help but give a soft chuckle. He had always been amazed by Aziraphales love of food. He often thinks to himself, that if he hadn’t convinced Eve to do so, Aziraphale would have gotten to the apple first. Then he wonders just what the aftermath of that would have been.

He shrugs the thought away as he nears the street the book shop is on, making a considerably sharp turn onto it. He glances at Aziraphale, who he may or may not have been trying to work up by driving extra recklessly. The poor angel is looking a bit green. He smiles to himself as he makes a quick stop, lurching both of them forward. For Crowley, if driving didn’t give him the same adrenaline rush of riding a rollercoaster, it wasn’t worth doing. 

“See, Zira? Made it without a scratch.” Crowley moved to turn off the engine, but paused at a sudden thought.

“Say, what do you think would happen if one of us DID get discorperated,” He waved his hand. “What, with all the ‘rebelling against the forces of heaven and hell’, and all?”

Aziraphale straightened his bow tie in the rearview mirror. “I suppose we shouldn’t be too eager to find out.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley the most intense side eye, the kind only the angel would dare give him. 

Point taken. “Spose not.”

“By the way” Aziraphale changed the subject. “I have a nice bottle of Pinot Noir that is just ripe enough to drink. Care to pop in and share a glass?”

Since the not-apocolypse, Aziraphale and Crowley had yet to have a night out together that didn’t end in some form of drinkage. He didn't know why the angel even felt the need to ask anymore. He knew what the answer would always be. 

Never could refuse the angel of anything.

“We’ll make a night of it, then.” 

He quickly turned off the engine and stepped out into the London air. The world around him buzzed, he could feel the temptations of the city. The lust in the hearts of couples who passed them on the streets, the envy of children watching people on benches eat ice cream. Crowley loved the earth, but sometimes it was too damned loud for him. Being forever alert of the wants and desires of humans. Constantly feeling the air buzz with their sin. 

The bookshop wasn’t like that. It was the only place in the whole of London that didn’t just stink of evil. It was quiet. Still. At first Crowley had hated that, the sheer calm of the building was unnerving. Now it was like a retreat. A getaway from all that hell and sin rubbish. Although, he supposed that none of that mattered anymore to him anyways.

Aziraphale fumbled the door open. Like the gentlemen he always was, he stepped aside to let Crowley in first. After a moment of mumbling to himself and searching through piles upon piles of disorganized items (books, mugs, and things of the like), Aziraphale pulled out glasses and plopped one in Crowley's hands. He poured him a decent amount of alcohol, always serving himself second. Once Aziraphale got into the habit of something, it was set in him like stone. Go out to dinner, go back to the shop, ask Crowley for a drink, pour Crowley a glass, don’t take a sip until Crowley has first. The demon should have found his level of politeness and courteousness annoying, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. 

A couple of glasses in, and they were off to their usual conversation. Aziraphale was drabbling on about something, and Crowley would nurse his glass while pretending to pay attention. He was just about to take a swig again when something happened. 

He couldn’t quite place it. But a feeling of unease settled in his stomach. He furrowed his brow, looking into his cup. Maybe he had just had a bit too much to drink. He lowered it, and as soon as the feeling had come, it had gone. It bothered him that he couldn’t detect what it was that was making him feel so...off. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts to the sound of Aziraphale, which, probably for the third time, saying his name. 

“Crowley.”

“Hmm?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You haven’t been listening at all, have you?” 

“No, no!” He tried to feign innocence. “You were going on about...something to do with…”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms from his usual seat.

“All right, you’ve caught me.”

“Typical,” the angel huffed while pouring himself another glass. He stopped to look at Crowley, who was blankly staring at him. There was an uncomfortable pause. 

“Well if you think I’m going to repeat myself-”

Crowley abruptly stood up. The feeling had returned, stronger this time. He had thought it before, and brushed it off. This time, however, he was sure of what it was. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his stomach dropped. He practically ran to the table Aziraphale was sitting at, grabbing the bottle of wine and breaking it on the edge, spilling its contents everywhere. 

“Crowley! What on earth?!” Aziraphale shot up so quickly that he nearly knocked over his chair in the process. He patted his pants and jacket where liquid had spilled on him, pink in the face. 

“Have you gone completely mad-”

The angel was cut off as the floor in front of them began to bubble. An unearthly sludge crept its way through the floorboards, sizzling and growing. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and watched in horror. The scent was unmistakable. Sulfur and rotting flesh. It was the smell of death. Crowley moved to stand in front of Aziraphale, holding out the broken bottle protectively. Aziraphale tries to move beside the demon, but Crowley holds his other arm out, stopping him. 

“Hell is here.”  
Crowley watched as the sludge took on a vaguely humanoid shape. Solidifying into an unwelcome but familiar form. 

“Crowley.” Hastur smiled, sludge oozing between his teeth, out of his ears. His black eyes boring holes into Crowley's golden ones. They flicked over Aziraphale, and the smile turned even more sinister. “What a book collection you have here. Would be a shame if something happened to it.”

“What are you doing here?” Crowley spat. “You can’t touch us, Hastur. Remember?”

Hastur laughed. Crowley shot a worried glance to Aziraphale, who was giving the same look back to him. There is no way hell could have figured out their swap already, right? If they had, that would mean heaven knew as well. And Crowley seriously doubted they would wait this long to enact another order of ‘divine punishment’ against his Angel. 

Aziraphale spoke up. “Now, you had better leave! Or..or.” he looked around, trying to think of anything that might make the demon leave them be. “Or I’ll smite you with my divine power!”

The angel straightened his coat and huffed, satisfied like he had said something truly intimidating. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale couldn’t smite a fly. In fact, the only time he had killed a fly, it was an accident. And he sniffled until Crowley miracled it back to life. It didn’t help that Aziraphale looked about as intimidating as a build-a-bear. 

Hastur wiped a black tear from his eye, amused. “Now that would be something.”

Crowley pointed the sharp edges of the broken bottle in his direction, warning. 

“What. do. You. Want?” 

“It’s not just what he wants.” A voice said, stepping out from behind a bookshelf. 

Michael stood, clean and white and radiating with power. Oh. This was not good. Crowley could feel Aziraphale tense behind him.

“It’s what justice demands.” She spoke flatly. 

Crowley tried to block Aziraphale from her completely, but Aziraphale pushed passed him anyway. He can't seriously still believe, after everything, that he can reason with her. Crowley’s eyes flicked dangerously between the two beings, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle. 

“Please,” Aziraphale’s eyes were like a kicked puppies. He simply could not understand why they couldn’t just be let alone. “If the almighty had REALLY wanted the apocalypse to happen, then we wouldn’t have been able to stop it!” He looked back to where Hastur was standing, a disturbing smile still splayed across his face. 

He turned back to Michael. 

“Just consider-”

He was cut off by Michael slapping him across the face, her stoic expression unwavering. Crowley could feel the rage bubble up inside of him when he saw a trickle of blood drip down Aziraphale’s cheek. One of her many fine rings must have cut him. Aziraphale looked stunned, and winced as he touched his face. Crowley bared his teeth, grinding them. No one dare lay a finger on Aziraphale without facing his wrath. 

“You pale winged bitch!” Crowley hissed. He moved to charge at her, bottle raised, when suddenly pain bloomed in his stomach. The kind of searing pain that takes the air out of your lungs. He looked at Michael, who’s hand was outstretched. Aziraphales eyes were wide in shock. 

He hadn’t even seen Michael throw the knife. She was too fast.

Crowley’s knees seemed to give, hitting the floor with a nasty crack against the wood. Aziraphale was by his side in a second. Crowley was still trying to process what had just happened. He looked down to his belly, a celestial hilt of a dagger sticking out of him. He instinctively, maybe out of shock, went to remove it. Aziraphale grabbed his wrist before he could. 

Aziraphale, Crowley thought. A panic swept over him. He couldn’t be incapacitated. He needed to be by Aziraphale’s side if they tried to hurt him. He quickly turned his head to look at Hastur, Michael now beside him. A wave of dizziness swept over him, nearly tipping his weight into Aziraphale. 

Hastur’s grin had grown immensely wide. Michael was like a statue beside him, looking down at the pair in disgust. 

“See you soon, Crowley.” Hastur flicked his wrist, and he and Michael were gone. 

Crowley pitched forward, frustratingly. Why was it so hard to stay upright? Aziraphale caught him, and Crowley realized that he had been saying his name for quite some time now. 

“Crowley, oh.” The angels voice broke. “What have they done to you?” 

Aziraphale was warm against him. So, so warm. And Crowley realized how cold he was starting to feel. 

“It’s…” His voice came out horse, his throat had never felt so dry. He licked his lips, and tasted iron. “It’s alright, Angel.”

“It is most definitely not alright!” Aziraphale cried. “Crowley, you’re discorperating. You’ll be trapped in hell!”

“Listen” It was getting harder to breathe, to speak. “Aziraphale...we will figure out a plan. We...we…” The demon struggled to keep his train of thought, an immense fatigue settling into him. He had never felt so damned tired before.He focused himself on the angel, and he noticed that the white of Aziraphales clothing was being soaked with blood. His blood. His earthly bodies, anyway. 

“We always...have a...plan.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand, his eyes searching for something desperately in Crowleys. Tears fell down his face, and Crowley, in that moment, would give anything to wipe the pain off of his angels face. He reached up a hand and wiped a tear from his face. As he did, exhaustion took over, unable to keep himself up, he had the Angel help guide his back to the floor. 

“I promise.” He said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I will find a way back to you.”

“No, no!” Aziraphale was pleading. “I can fix this, I can…” He held out a hand and closed his eyes, trying to miracle the wound away. 

“Celestial blade” Crowley coughed, a thick substance coated his lips. Blood. “No...no miracles for me today, I’m afraid.” He smiled weakly, and as he did so, an overwhelming urge to sleep crept on him. 

The last thing he heard before drifting away was Aziraphale, pleading for him to stay awake. 

**********


	2. Too Many Crowleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley had never been discorperated before, and when Aziraphale described it, it hadn't sounded so bad. 
> 
> “It was like waking up suddenly, and being somewhere else.” He had said.
> 
> Discorperating for angels must be a hell of a lot more pleasant, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves needles and mentions of suicide. If that kind of subject matter is triggering, please be advised before continuing. 
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

Crowley blipped into hell. 

At first, he wasn’t all together. Quite literally in the sense that his physical body was still on earth, partially in the sense that his celestial body wasn't all caught up with him. The parts of him that were in hell saw bits and pieces of a dark room with blurry figures standing around him. Whispering. Other parts of him were still falling through space and matter, his atoms falling apart and rearranging themselves like ill fitting puzzle pieces. It was like being a million places all at once, sensory overload to the extreme. Crowley had never been discorperated before, and when Aziraphale described it, it hadn’t sounded so bad. 

“It was like waking up suddenly, and being somewhere else.” He had said.

Discorperating for angels must be a hell of a lot more pleasant, then. Having his physical body die had hurt. Discorperating had hurt. Perhaps God took pity on angels, making them forget the whole of it. Demons did not get that luxury, evidently. 

He fell for what could have been years, or seconds. Time was funny when you existed everywhere and nowhere. Only when it seemed that he was mostly together again, did he realize the severity of the danger he was in. 

He “awoke” (if you could call it that) in a cell. The walls, ceiling, floor, were all made of the same grey concrete that made up most of hell. It was dank, and dirty. Blood and grime were caked into the cracks and corners of the room. The smell was of...well. Shit. If he had a stomach, he may have vomited. 

He arrived in time to see Hastur and Michael report to two shadowed figures and blip away. He blinked, trying to make them out. But his mind was still reeling from flying through existence. When they noticed he had fully appeared, the two figures stepped closer, shielding his view from some sort of..object behind them. 

Beelzebub and Gabriel stood side by side before him. Oh, bollocks. 

“You know” Crowley’s voice seemed far away, and he supposed it was. “Sending a letter would have been much more appropriate, don’t you think?”

Gabriel laughed, but his eyes were the same empty purple he remembered from the switch. No emotion, nothing like Aziraphale’s expressive and...well, human eyes.

“Oh, he’s funny. Did you know he was funny?” Gabriel asked Beelzebub, who looked the same as they always had. Crusty and swarming, expressionless. Their skin was oozing, maggots nesting their way into their rotting flesh. 

“Your office must have a different sense of humor.” They sighed.

“Sort of,” Gabriel said, then stared straight at Crowley. Picking him apart, deducing with a glance what would make him squirm. “My office found it absolutely hilarious when we finally decided on how to kill Aziraphale.” 

Crowley tried to lunge at Gabriel. He figured he was going to die here, so he might as well take out the bastard while he was at it. He was sure as hell not going to let these arseholes so much as LOOK in Aziraphale’s direction. He was ready to possess Gabriel and tear him apart from the inside, when his celestial body felt...disrupted. It was like he was being electrocuted. He screamed. 

“Oh, I was hoping you were gonna try that!” Gabriel was clapping his hands and squealing, like a child whose parents just bought a new toy. “Arent demon traps just spectacular. Really one of heavens greatest designs. An absolute feat of angelic engineering.” 

Crowley looked down. Beneath him was a glowing mass of angelic symbols. They clearly meant business, and that could only mean one thing. 

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “Let's get on with it. I have paperwork to file.”

Crowley's eyes widened.

“Cmon, going to all this trouble to get me here, only to kill me right away?” Crowley knew he had to do anything to stall for time. Aziraphale would find him. He had to. Crowley couldn’t stand to picture the look of grief on the angels face, knowing he was gone for good.

“Aren’t you going to at least throw some torture in the mix, get me back for all the ‘thwarting’ I’ve done?” He looked at Beelzebub. “Has hell really gone so downhill that we’ve forgotten how to torture prisoners?”

Gabriel looked at him incredulously. He paused for a moment, and then just busted out laughing. Full on, belly laughter. 

“Kill you? Beelz, you sure you shouldn’t open up some sort of comedy club down here? This guy is just too much.” 

Crowley was genuinely confused. If he wasn’t going to be killed, then why was he here?

Beelzebub leaned closer to him, flies zapping against the invisible electric barrier keeping Crowley in place. Crowley had always been unnerved by them. How unassuming they seemed, but Crowley had seen Beelzebub in the early days. On the front lines of corrupting and torturing human souls. He knew the frightening truth about them. 

“We aren’t going to kill you, little demon.” As they spoke, the room seemed to darken. The kind of blackness that exists in children's closets, and under beds. The dark the holds the deepest fears of mankind. “When we’re done with you, you’re going to kill yourself.”

“And, uh,” Crowley swallowed. “Why would I ever do that?”

“Because” Gabriel moved, exposing the secret behind him.

“You won't have any other choice.”

~

Aziraphale clutched Crowley's body in his arms for what seemed like an eternity. He didn’t speak, he didn’t move. He sobbed silently over his friends shell. He never wanted to see Crowley this way ever again. Blood pooled around him, much more than Aziraphale even thought existed in a body. His serpentine eyes stared into space, dull and unmoving. 

What was worse, was that Aziraphale knew his torment wasn't over. He knew Crowley was out there, having God knows what done to him.

No, he thought. Not God. Heaven.

Heaven and Hell. 

Aziraphale felt totally helpless. Crowley was always the one who had the good ideas. The mastermind behind every plan. Aziraphale, like a good soldier, simply did as he was told. And now he was on his own, having to decide how to save his best friend. 

Let's start with this, he thinks to himself.

He wipes tears away from his face with one hand, and snaps the other. Suddenly, the blood that covers his clothes, Crowley's form, and the wooden floor of the shop disappears. He reaches out his hand to gently close the eyes of his friend. He couldn’t bear to see that lifeless stare any longer. 

Looking at his face, now appearing to be sleeping, Aziraphale feels a sudden resolve. The pit of his stomach burns with...something. He’s never really felt anger before. He just never believed he was designed to. Yes, he had gotten annoyed, upset. Flustered, even. It was just not in Aziraphale nature to feel genuinely...well. 

Pissed off.

In this moment, however, Azirzaphale was fuming. How DARE they do this to Crowley, who was nothing but kind. Kind! Yes, Crowley talked a big game, but the real Crowley, the one he knew and cherished was suave, and funny, and smart, and kind. And how DARE they try to take such a light from the world in the name of revenge, or justice, or whatever bloody name they’re trying to call it. This new feeling, it ran through his bloodstream. Made his nerve endings tingle with a white hot fiery rage. 

How DARE they. 

Shadows danced across Crowley's body in front of him, like some type of light was casting them. Aziraphale stood up, and suddenly the shadows disappeared entirely. It was as if the entire room had been lit up with an unnatural brightness. Aziraphale looked down at himself, and realized suddenly that it was him. His form was glowing. 

“Oh” Aziraphale pulled a hand up in front of his face, staring at it. The rage he was feeling was being replaced with confusion. As he was quite sure he had never been able to glow before.  
It seemed as soon as he realized what was happening, it had stopped. The light flickered, then dimmed, then was put out entirely. 

He stared at his hand for a good long while after that. After 6,000 years of being alive, Aziraphale was sure of the things he could and could not do. He had heard of angels with empathic abilities, but he had never once had them himself. 

He dropped his hand, and huffed. Regardless, newfound power or not, he didn’t suppose that becoming an angel-shaped torch was going to help Crowley’s situation at all. This entire situation felt helpless. What kind of angel was he supposed to be, if he couldn’t even protect the ones he cared about. Aziraphale knew he had never been the strongest, or the smartest angel in the Almighty’s arsenal. He had always thought that his gentleness had been a virtue. That it was what made him different, special, even. 

But now he was kicking himself over it. If he had been stronger, maybe Crowley would stand a chance. 

Aziraphale was jolted away from his thoughts as the bell of the shops door jingled. Distantly he heard voices. He looked around, realizing suddenly that the night had faded away sometime during his grief. Daylight swept in through the windows, and he felt a pang of anxiety as he heard footsteps drawing closer to where he stood. Where he stood with a very dead looking body. 

He looked down, and back towards the footsteps.

Just as a couple approached him, inquiring about some book, Aziraphale sprang into action, shooing them out of the store. 

“Sorry!” He exclaimed as he pushed them out of the door, slamming it closed and locking it. “Family emergency!”

He slumped against it, the open sign digging into his back. He closed his eyes, trying to still the beating of his heart. Perhaps that was a bodily feature he should try to turn off. He could really do without all this anxiety. 

He steadied himself and walked briskly back to Crowley. He didn’t enjoy having to leave him there, lying on the floor. Glass from the nights bottle crunched under his shoes, and he stopped dead as he closed the gap between the door and where Crowley was. 

Or was supposed to be. His body had vanished. Not even a strand of red hair was left behind.  
“No. no, no no no no” Aziraphale ran, collapsing in the space where his friend had been. He buried his head in his hands. Crowley would need that body when he comes back, and the angel had lost it entirely. He stiffened suddenly. Dread seeping into him. 

If he comes back.

It seemed that everything was falling apart in front of him, and he was powerless to stop it. 

Aziraphale looked up from where he sat at his expansive collection of books and oddities. Searching. A thought occurs to him, then. In one of these books, there must be something that could help his friend. 

The angel pulls himself up, and straightens his bow tie. 

“Right.” He said to himself. “Not a moment to spare, then.”

He delves into the mountains and mountains of books. Determined.

~

Gabriel had stepped out from in front of him, giving Crowley a front row seat to..

Whatever the hel- the heav- whatever the fuck he was looking at. 

It was him. He saw himself, well, his body..a body, head slumped forward. Loose and lifeless. Several machines were hooked up to it. What looked like 10 hospital IV bags, full of a blue luminescent sludge. Gabriel walked over to it and yanked it up by a tuft of its red hair. Crowley involuntarily winced. He had never liked people touching his hair. Unmoving eyes, his eyes, looked blankly at him. Tubes full of the same blue substance in his nostril. Jaw unhinged, no life to use the muscles required of keeping it shut. His arms and legs were bound to what looked to be a worn dental chair. 

“Neat, right?” Gabriel mused, looking the body up and down like it was a shiny new car. “I hope we got all the details right, wouldn’t want anything to be out of place.”

He suddenly let go, and the bodies head slumped forward, limp. 

“Nothing to say?” Beelzebub cut the silence. “I believe this is the first time I’ve ever heard you shut your mouth this long, Crawley.”

Crowley couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. So many of his features were right. His tattoo, his leanness. Seeing himself hooked up to what he could only describe as demonic dialysis equipment was jarring. To think of why they would discorperate him, only to hand him a brand new body was...troubling, to say the least. 

“What exactly is this?”

Gabriel splayed his arms out in front of him, like a buisness man working up a major sale. 

“Oh come on! Aren’t you event the least bit excited? This body is brand spanking new!”

“Uh” Crowley swallowed. “I’ll take the body, minus the nasty tubes, if you don’t mind.” 

Beelzebub crossed their arms, looking impatiently to Gabriel. “You said this wasn’t going to take long.”

“What isn’t going to take long?” Crowley, if he had any, would probably be able to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something seemed wrong. He wanted his body back, but even looking at the one in front of him made him want to run and hide as the spectre he currently existed as forever. 

Gabriel ignored the Lord of Hell, turning his attention fully on Crowley. Well, ghost Crowley. Actual Crowley. Too many Crowleys to keep track of. 

“So here’s the deal.” He folded his fingers under his chin.

“You,” He pointed them at Crowley, then back to the body. “Are going to bond to this body.”

He stepped over to the machines, patting one of them. “Then this will pump a gross amount of serum into your blood, making you highley suggestable.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, as Gabriel stepped quickly to the edge of the demon trap. His heavenly aura widening and pulsing. Crowley felt as though he was getting a light sunburn, which was not good. Considering he had no skin. “Then you’re going to kill your boyfriend for me. ‘Kay?” He smiled. The same ‘shut your stupid mouth and die already’ smile that made his blood boil.

“Then himself.” Beelzebub reminded Gabriel. 

“Don’t worry!” Gabriel waved them off, speaking to Crowley. “It’ll be like taking a backseat. You’ll be aware of things, but your body. Your words. Your actions.They’ll belong to me.”

“To Us.” Beelzebub was tapping their foot now. 

Gabriel gave an exasperated sigh. “To ‘us’. Whatever.”

Crowley shook his head. Laughing dryly. “No. You’re delusional if you think I would ever bond myself to that body.”

“What part of not having a choice don’t you understand?”

“I won't hurt him.” Crowley snapped. “I would never hurt him.”

“Oh, you’re going to.” Beelzebub was smiling. Crowley couldn’t even remember ever seeing the fly lord smile. “And you are going to be aware of every jab, every wound, silently screaming in your head to let it stop.”

They snapped their fingers, and the body sat upright. It was like turning the key in the ignition of the Bentley. He could feel every working part of it, the hum of the engine. He could feel the organs starting up, the lungs starting to fill with air, its heart beginning to beat. He could feel himself being pulled to it. The only thing keeping him from becoming whole with the body was the trap keeping his soul in place. 

Gabriel turned to him again, same fake smile plastered to angelic features. “Oh, and by the way” He stepped his foot down on one of the edges of the trap, and Crowley felt the same jolt of electricity as when he tried to escape it. “What you said about the whole torture thing? Yeah. This is going to hurt. A lot..”

And with that, he slid his foot back, breaking the seal.


	3. Italian Wool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub, in a single strained motion, threw Crowley into the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> I just wanted to let y'all know that I am in the process of moving. So the next update may take me some time to complete, but don't worry! I am still writing. I don't know exactly how long this is gonna end up being, probably 5-7 chapters in total. I've never written anything this long before, so I'm not 100% sure!
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

A simple break in a line was all it took, and the seal was rendered useless. Its glow flickered, like a candle flame being blown out. And it was gone. Crowley could feel it. The body was calling to him, a perfect fit for his celestial form. He could see his form being pulled to it, molecule by molecule. 

He wasn’t going to give in so easily.

As his form floated just outside the barrier, he lunged at Gabriel. Shifting shape was easier without a body, he could make himself into whatever he wanted. With a simple thought, his hands were spectral talons, long and dark. He sank them into Gabriel's arm, causing the archangel to yell. He didn’t seem hurt, more pissed off than anything. Typical of Gabriel. Expecting others to simply nod their heads and comply to whatever he demands. Crowley thought of all the times Aziraphale had been randomly pulled aside and barked orders at. The way his shoulders seemed to sag after every heavenly meeting. All because this bastard couldn’t see a world in which he wasn’t supremely in charge. 

Crowley sharpened his teeth into fangs, and sank them into Gabriel's shoulder. The shadows of wings covered the room, suddenly appearing from the demons shape. He wanted to be something ghastly and terrifying, and his spirit had complied. He bit down harder as angelic hands tried to rip him from his upper body. 

“Beelz! Get this damn thing off me!” Gabriel shouted. 

Crowley felt the fly Lords hands tugging at his wings. He glanced in their direction, seeing what looked like a demon holding on to nothing. The shadows on the wall bent. The demon winced as Beelzebub tugged on them, yanking him from the angel. His claws and teeth leaving tears in Gabriel's formerly pristine grey suit. 

Beelzebub, in a single strained motion, threw Crowley into the body. He smashed into it, phasing through the skin and blood and bone to something much, much deeper. The force of it slammed the body’s back into the dental chair, breaking the recline. The IV bags wobbled, nearly falling over. 

Crowley gulped in hair so fast it made him dizzy. He blinked furiously, eyes adjusting to being used. It felt as though he had been underwater for a long time and had finally broken surface. The force of being alive, being corporal, hit him all at once. He heard someone snapping their fingers, his ears ringing. And suddenly he was sitting upright, the chair repaired through miracle. 

As his eyes adjusted, he saw Beelzebub dusting themselves off. Gabriel was watching him, a dangerous look on his face. He walked over to Crowley, now whole and together, and clocked him. 

“This suit was Italian wool, asshole!”

Crowley felt the bodies lip- his lip- crack open. Blood trickled down his chin. Gabriel cocked back his fist, aiming for another hit, when a hand caught his wrist. 

There Micheal stood, as elegant as ever, appearing seemingly from nowhere. 

“You need him alive, remember?” 

Gabriel ripped his hand away from her, embarrassed. “Of course I remember. And if I remember correctly, you were tasked with a job, yes?”

Her eyes drifted from his and on to Crowley. He shot back a look of pure rage. These angels better hope the restraints binding him to the chair are strong enough. 

She turned back to Gabriel. “That's why I’m here. I disposed of the old body as requested.”

Gabriel hummed. “And Aziraphale?”

As Crowley heard the name, he leaned forward. The restraints tight against his skin, pulling at it. They better not have hurt him. Satan help anyone who tries it. 

“Reading.” She replied. “Going through summoning manuscripts, it seems.”

“Let him. We’re almost finished here.” Beelzebub stepped forward, much to the disgust of Micheal. She physically shifted away from them, as though simply being this close made her want to throw up.

“He isn’t stupid!" Crowley growled at them, baring his teeth. Crowley wanted them to doubt themselves, to make them stop. But he knew deep down that they will never stop. Even if this attempt fails, he and his angel will never be safe from them. He pulled his body forward, struggling like a caged animal. "He’ll figure out what you’ve done, you bastards!” 

Gabriel ignored him and addressed Micheal. “Watch him, delay the summoning until we are finished.” 

Michael looked between the two of them, clearly not liking the fact that she was to take orders under the recommendation of one of the Lords of hell. Her eyes shifted quickly over Crowley, who glared daggers at her. The archangel betrayed a slight amusement behind her cool expression. If Crowley hadn’t been looking at her so intensely, he may have missed the look entirely. 

She turned to Gabriel and nodded a quick “Yes, sir”, and was gone again. 

The other two turned their attention back onto Crowley. There was still a silent rage burning behind Gabriel's eyes as he fiddled with his torn sleeve. He sighed, trying to calm himself, only to give up and land one last punch directly into the demons stomach, knocking the air out of him. He slumped forward, and he squeezed his eyes shut while trying hard not to vomit. He felt a hand grip the hair close to the top of his scalp, suddenly face to face with the lavender eyed angel. Crowley laughed dryly, and shot a glob of spit square on his face. 

The angel blinked, and with his free hand grabbed a purple handkerchief from his pocket. He let go of Crowley's hair abruptly, and Crowley winced as he sank back. 

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy this very much.”

As if on cue, Beelzebub walked to the machine attached to him and flipped a switch, whirring it to life. The room glowed faintly with blue light emanating from the bags. The sludge began to creep its way down the tubes, inching closer to his flesh. Crowley struggled against his restraints, which seemed to cause the liquid to hasten. 

“No, wait-” 

Before he could finish, his skin seemed to erupt into flame where the needles met flesh. He let out an animalistic scream as it seared into his veins. They swelled and bulged, creeping up his arms and onto his neck. His nose began to leak a mixture of blood and blue serum where another tube connected to him. The demons face flushed red hot, steam rising from him. Crowley liked fire, big fan of it. But this was something else entirely. He felt as though he were being devoured from the inside, and if he weren’t in so much pain, he may have wondered if this is what humans felt when their mortal souls were cast into flame. 

He thrashed violently in the chair, screaming every profanity and curse he could think of. He hadn’t been in this much pain since he fell from grace. It was all consuming, every fiber of his being singed with it. Physically he could feel his nerve endings erupting, like small explosions under his skin. His brain was boiling in his skull. He screamed and screamed until his voice tore, and what felt like tears spilled from his eyes down his face. He blinked at the sting of it, only for his vision to blur and sizzle. Sludge was pouring from his eyes. 

“BASTARDS! BASTARDS!” He yelled, until suddenly his body just seemed to give up. His thrashing stilled as the machine halted, no more poison left to pump. He slumped forward, IV bags squished and empty. The room fell silent. For the first time in a long time, it seemed as though hell were void of sound.

The fly Lord examined him, roughly poking his shoulder. Crowley's clothes were damp with sweat. There was no response, just the silent dripping of blue liquid down his face. 

“Oi, is he dead?”

“Uh, no.” Gabriel responded as if he were answering the dumbest question he had ever heard. "You just have to give him a command. Like this."

He puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders, looking exactly like a generic CEO. 

“Crawley. It’s time to wake up.” 

It was almost like a computer starting up. Crowley felt as though he were in a dream, a strange fog covering his mind. He sat up vertebrae by vertebrae until he was completely upright. It was unnatural for him. He wanted to lean back, to bend his spine in its usual fashion, but he couldn’t make his body do what he asked it to. A panic started to form in him, though he had no way of expressing it. This is very, very bad. 

Gabriel was absolutely giddy. He cleared his throat and spoke again as Beelzebub moved beside him, staring at Crowley dumbstruck. 

“State your name, demon.”

Crowley felt himself speak, though he tried hard inside himself to not. “Anthony J. Crowley.” 

Beelzebub crinkled their nose, taken out of whatever spell they were under. Crowley wishes he could say the same for himself. 

“What does the ‘J’ stand for?”

“Just a J, really.” His voice seemed distant. 

“And just why,” Gabriel asked slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. Crowley hated him to his core, silently burning in his now prison of meat and bone. “Did you help Aziraphale stop Armageddon?”

“Because I didn’t want to lose the Earth. Or Angel. I love them both.” 

The room tensed. Everyone is shocked by the answer. Crowley perhaps most of all. He wanted to scream. To throw things. He somehow knew deep down he loved Aziraphale, but he hadn’t allowed himself to ever really think it. It made sense to him, the realization. The angel had affected him in ways no other being had. But this was wrong. This was not the way to say it. His angel should be here, with him. They should have been able to figure it out on their own, at their own pace. And in a single moment it was all taken away from them. 

The anger passed, and then shame crept in. The same shame that lived beneath the surface of their secret meetings through the years. He mostly felt it for Aziraphale, who had made it clear that until recently they had hardly even been friends. He was stupid to ever, however repressed, wish for anything more. He was lucky they had what they currently did. 

“I’m sorry- did you say love?” The smug look had faded from Gabriel's face. 

“Since the beginning.”

There was another silence. Shorter this time, however, as Gabriel and Beelzebub began to laugh maliciously. 

“You know” Gabriel said, wiping tears from his eyes, still laughing at him. “He would never love something like you.”

His words cut the demon deeper than the knife that discorperated him. Crowley hated himself, and he hated them. And for a moment, he hated God for letting this happen. For a while, he had actually began to believe that maybe, just maybe, she had wanted them to save the world. That they really were some part of a huge ineffable plan, that they were made to work together. To inhabit the same earth. To be friends. But it was all shattering before him now. This was just a reminder that he would forever be reaching for something he could never have. The world was his garden, Aziraphale it's forbidden fruit. And this was the price he would pay for tampering with it. 

“No.” His body said. “He wouldn’t.”

“This is an even better punishment than we thought.” Beelzebub said to Gabriel, still trying to contain his laughter. 

“Forcing him to murder his unrequited love in cold blood. Satan himself couldn’t have thought that up.”

Panic seized him again. His consciousness slammed itself the walls of his body, commanding it to respond. It did nothing. He fought with everything he had in him. They wouldn’t do this. They can’t. They can’t make him do this. They could discorperate him, torture him, humiliate him. Hell, they could even kill him. But they can’t make him do this. Not to his angel. Not to Aziraphale. 

His body didn’t respond.

Suddenly Michael was with them again. She stood behind Gabriel, stepping forward to report. Before she spoke, she looked to the demon. She studied him, his physical blank expression now nearly matching her own. 

Without taking her eyes off him, she spoke. “Aziraphale is preparing to cast a summoning ritual.”

“Right on time.” Gabriel was still wearing the same shit eating grin. 

“Let’s give Crowley his assignment.”


End file.
